


colour me

by heybinnie



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Dream Store AU, Gen, he is not, jinjin is not selling drugs i promise, trust me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heybinnie/pseuds/heybinnie
Summary: you learn there's more to life than these monotone streets, and come to understand that the 'd' in 'd.store' is not, for the umpteenth time the bartender keeps protesting, an abbreviation for 'drugs'.alternatively, your life is no longer black and white and is instead filled with the colours of the rainbow.





	1. ...stupid

for the longest time, your world has always only been black, white and grey. you’ve only ever known your black eyes and grey skin and the white sun in the silver sky, and this is the norm. these are the only shades that matter, and the world has been black and white since the day you were born.

there isn’t exactly anything wrong with that. really, there isn’t. this is life as you know it, shaded in the lights and shadows, and sometimes you wonder how the rest of the world looked. is it darker than the city or brighter than the sun? are there buildings taller than the ones here? you figure that you’ll never really know. you’ve never been past the edge of the city, after all.

until you look up from where you were aimlessly wandering the streets to find yourself in front of an odd, little store. there are grey, potted plants standing tall beside the small place and a black bike parked just by the pavement, and you blink up at the sign on the store’s window curiously.

_D. STORE._

you stare at it for a moment before shrugging. _maybe it’s d for drugs,_ you think, and move to continue on your way.

then stop dead in your tracks when something catches your eye, and you turn to the sign on the front door that has flipped ‘open’ and– _what’s that?_ what _is_ that? what the _heck_ is _that_ filling the arches on the sign that isn’t black or white or grey or any other shade you can think of, standing out against everything else like a sore thumb, so bright and different and just– _not black or white–_

the sign overhead lights up, flickering to life, and you feel your breath get stuck in your throat at the same _things_ that are making it glow. your heart starts racing in your chest suddenly and you don’t have a clue why. what do those _mean?_ what– _why–_

you’re walking forward before you know it. you stare at the sign in bewilderment and awe for a long while, hand wrapping around the handle, before pushing the door open without really thinking about it.

and your breath is taken away all at once.

there are barely any blacks or whites. these are– these are _brighter_ than white, and there’s _so much_ of it, so many different kinds all across the ceiling and walls and tables, and you’re staring at all of it in an absolute loss for words because this isn’t like anything you’ve ever seen before. these aren’t the shades you know at all. they’re– they’re called _colour_ , you think, something you vaguely remember in your history books– and god, they are so– _so–_

“oh! our first customer of the day,” hums a happy, deep voice. “welcome!”

your eyes snap up to a man behind the store’s counter, and you gasp, because _he isn’t grey._  his skin looks like white but with a sort of warm glow to it, and his hair isn’t black but it’s dark _enough_ , and– he’s– he’s just–

he’s not black or white or grey.

“how may i help you today?” he smiles at you kindly.

you’re shaking. your legs are trembling and your breath stutters in your throat, scared and in awe all at once, and find yourself slowly making for the counter when he beckons you forward with a tilt of his head. you step up to the counter slowly, placing your hands on the white countertop–it’s ridiculous how that made you feel safe–and look up at him warily.

he raises his not-white-or-black brows and smiles with his not-white-or-black lips. “you okay? seem a little shaken up there.”

“i– you– this is–”

“deep breaths, now.”

“am i _dying?_ ” you blurt out, heart hammering in your chest. “am i– what the _hell_ is going _on_ –”

“you are not dying, miss,” he laughs, a dimple poking beside his mouth. “you are not dying.”

“then what the heck is _this?_ ” you say in disbelief, gesturing to the store in general. “what is– what is _that_ –”

“those are flowers.”

“what’s up with the walls–”

“the walls?”

“and why are the benches– why are they– _that?_ ”

“why are they blue?”

“yes, why are they– why are they _what?_ ”

he smiles at you patiently as he wipes a glass. “blue,” he tells you. “the benches are blue.”

“what’s a blue?”

“it’s a colour.”

you blink. “a colour doesn’t exist.”

“sure it does.”

“no, it– that was years ago, in the books. there’s no more–”

“that bench is blue, and blue is a colour.” the man puts the glass away and leans against the counter, grinning. “and there are many, many different colours, miss. they still exist here.”

you stare at him in disbelief, unable to process any of it, and eventually he laughs at the look on your face. the sound rings out through the shop, accompanying the soft music playing in the background, and suddenly, you feel oddly at ease. the man smiles at you and holds up a finger. “wait here.”

he turns around to the counter behind him, and you see a row of seven glass bottles neatly placed beneath several taps. your jaw drops when he turns them on one by one, and each bottle slowly fills up with a total of seven different colours each, glimmering faintly in the light of the store. he shuts off all the taps and brings the bottles over to you.

“alright,” he says, and folds his arms to lean against the counter once more. “let me teach you.”

and in the span of ten minutes, he tells you the names of the seven different colours laid out in front of your eyes. you learn about red and orange and yellow and green and blue and navy and purple, and you mutter a “wow” at the fact that ‘blue’ has shades too, just like your blacks and whites.

“see?” he laughs when you list out all the colours under your breath. “they still exist. they’re still here.”

you finger a glass bottle gently–the blue one, that’s the only one you’re truly confident of–and murmur, “i don’t understand.”

“what is it?”

“why do we still have colours?”

the man doesn’t reply and smiles at you instead. there’s something in his eyes then, something knowing and calm and makes you feel like you’re missing out on a big secret before he pulls out a glass.

“want a drink?”

“what?”

“don’t worry, they’re just sodas,” he tells you, and tilts his head with a small smile. “want a drink? on the house, free of charge.”

“really?”

“of course, miss,” he hums. “pick one of these, and i’ll pour it for you.”

“well, sure– wait a minute,” you mutter. “they usually do this at parties.”

the man’s brows rises. “do what?”

“they say it’s just sodas but it’s like, drugged, or something. is that what this is? does the ‘d’ in ‘d.store’ mean drugs?”

he blinks at you, lips parted, before he bursts into laughter and clutches at his stomach. “no, we don’t– we don’t do _drugs_ , oh my god.”

you squint at him. “then will anything happen if i drink this?”

he smiles at you. “nothing bad will happen. you will be fine.”

“you promise?”

“i promise.”

“fine. if anything _does_ happen, im suing this place,” you mutter, and the man doesn’t say anything to that. “i’ll have this then,” you point to the blue glass bottle.

the man makes an amused face, but nods. he pours in the odd, blue drink into the glass and pushes it gently towards you, says “here you go” and watches as you bring it up to your lips.

and as you drink down the cold, soothing liquid, feeling it spread throughout your chest like a swimming pool in summer, he rests his chin in a hand and says, “sweet dreams, miss.”

then all you know is black.


	2. ...blue

“…miss?”

you feel your fingers twitch.

“um, miss– oh, she’s wiggling her fingers.”

“stop worrying, she’s fine.”

“of course i’m going to worry. jinjin’s doing it again.”

“at least she’s in one piece this time.”

your mind seems to stir in alarm at that, groggily prompting you to push yourself up on shaky arms. your head is pounding painfully, like someone’s hammering a nail into your temple.

“ah, you– bin, seriously.”

“what?”

“you scared her into waking up!”

“well, i mean, it worked, so–”

you hear a thwack and a small “ow!”, before finally squinting your eyes open. for a brief second, your vision blurs out to an odd shade of white that almost seems unfamiliar. you blink rapidly, frowning a little, then find yourself staring back at a very concerned face, with black hair and black eyes and not-black-or-white lips.

…what?

“are you okay?” this man says, and suddenly it occurs to you that his skin is not grey like yours and his clothes are not black or white and why are his lips so pretty–

it all comes to you in a rush, punching a sharp gasp from your lungs, and you scramble back in alarm to stare at him with wide eyes. he jumps a little in surprise, hands curling against his chest.

“you– you– who are _you?_ ” you blurt out, heart racing. “and why are you– you’re–”

you gesture helplessly to him in general, at an utter loss for words, when you get a second rush of memories. you remember a store, with a weird sign on the door and an interior design that was in–

 _colours._ you look at this guy and at his clothes and blurt out, “that’s _blue_. that’s blue, isn’t it? the colour blue?”

he looks down and picks at his clothes. “yes, this is blue.”

“oh my god,” you breathe, clutching at your head. “oh my _god_ , that was _real_ , that store was real, _colours_ are _real_ –”

“she’s losing it,” another man hums, and your eyes snap to him. you swallow at the different colour he wears, mind racing for the name.

“behave, binnie.”

“you _called_ me over–”

“you’re red, right?” you say. “that’s red?”

the red guy looks at you. “yeah, this is red, missy. i’m… surprised you know.”

“the guy at the store–” you pause. “where’s the guy at the store?”

“you mean jinjin?”

“yeah, i guess, _that_ guy, he– he gave me a drink– or, several drinks, and made me pick one, so i picked the blue one, because that was all i really knew, so i drank it, and suddenly i wake up to– who the heck are you and where am i?” you ramble, looking around yourself, and your breath catches in your throat.

you’re sprawled across a living room floor that seems to be– marble, you think, and it stretches out until it ends at a wall behind the Red Guy. the walls are a rich blue, towering three floors above your head, and you see a beautiful diamond chandelier glimmering under the dim lights. the place is decorated with white furniture, polished and clean, and the blue couch in the middle of the room easily captures your attention.

“wow,” you breathe, eyes full of wonder and awe.

you turn to look at the man in blue when he laughs, a lovely sound that bounces off the walls. “it really isn’t much, but it’s cosy,” he says, then holds out a hand.

he smiles. “my name is eunwoo, and welcome to my dream.”

“your– what? your dream?”

eunwoo nods and wiggles his fingers. you stare at it before slowly placing your hand in his, and for a long moment you just look at the way his skin looks so beautiful against your dull shade of grey. he pulls you up to your feet gently.

“what do you mean ‘your dream’?”

“it’s exactly what it means,” he laughs. “you drank the blue soda, right? which means you picked _my_ dream to be in, so here you are.”

you stare at him warily. behind him, Red Guy suddenly laughs. “you lost her,” he giggles. “look at her face.”

“who are _you?_ ” you say. “you’re– you’re red, so– does it mean you have your own dream or whatever too?”

“yeah,” he grins. for some reason, Red makes you feel oddly warm inside. “i’m only here because eunwoo called, but i think he doesn’t need me here anymore, sooo…” he claps his hands suddenly and slaps eunwoo on the back, ignoring the replying yelp. “see you around, buddy.”

“thanks,” eunwoo mutters as Red heads for the front door.

“wait,” you say. Red Guy turns to look at you curiously. “would i get to see your dream too?”

your heart skips when he smiles. “only if you pick me, missy,” he winks. then he’s out the door and closing it shut behind him.

there’s a short pause. “wow, what a flirt,” eunwoo huffs. his eyes crinkle into crescents when you laugh. “enough of him; come on, i’ll show you around.”

he gives you a little tour of his house–his _dream_ –and watches you in amusement as you try to take everything in in bite-sized pieces. it feels a little surreal, being surrounded by more blue than black or white, and you realise after a while that you don’t mind it at all.

“and here’s my pride and joy,” eunwoo grins and pulls a door open.

you walk into a brightly lit room filled with blue shelves covering almost every inch of the walls. every shelf is lined neatly with books, rows upon rows of stories and endless information waiting to be read, and a desk sits in the corner of the room. the reading lamp is on.

you trace a shelf with a finger. “you sure like to read.”

“it’s a good way to keep learning.”

“that’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

“not really. it’s calming, after a while.”

you look at him curiously. he’s flipping through the pages of a book idly, eyes skimming over every page or two before putting it back on the shelf. you look away before he can catch you staring and wander towards his little desk instead, finding papers strewn across the surface among the other towering stacks. you peer over them to read his neat handwriting, and blink at what you find.

“you have business notes here,” you say, picking up some papers, “but also some music sheets, too.”

you look up when he doesn’t say anything. eunwoo glances up at you from a new book, holding your gaze for a beat before offering you a small smile.

“they don’t usually go together unless you’re trying to be a singer,” you muse, reading over his notes. “and they’re completely unrelated.”

“they’re a _little_ related,” he says. he shuts his book and walks over to you. “did you read the words on the music notes?”

you peer down and squint at the tiny writing.

 _beyond the dreams that run away and the space left by me alone  
_ _in a drawer hidden deeply, take out old notes and recall me as a child_

“my parents were businessmen,” he murmurs, picking up a music sheet. “i didn’t get to see them a lot, but they gave me plenty of books to read, so it was fine. they’d stock up our library with new books every time they came back from a business trip; i’d have something new to read every few weeks.”

he glances at his other notes. “but they’re almost always business-related. they kept telling me to study hard so i could be a good businessman like them, but i never really understood the point of that. i didn’t want to do what they were doing.” he sighs a little, putting down the music sheet. “they weren’t very happy with me when i said that.”

“what happened?” you ask gently.

“they kept trying. made me get perfect grades and told me all their business plans. all these books you see here,” he gestures to the huge shelves, “they’re all books they gave me since i was young. half of those are about marketing and financial management; it took me a week to put all of them on the top shelves.”

“why don’t you just throw them out?”

“i can’t. they’re a part of me,” he says quietly. “i’ve already read everything.”

“you could’ve… _not_ read them.”

he shakes his head. “i had to, or i’d be punished.”

there’s a short silence. you set the papers down, tracing over his music notes and frowning, before looking up at him. “so how is this place your dream? doesn’t sound like you’re happy here, surrounded by all this stuff.”

eunwoo smiles at you then, crescent-eyed and suddenly shy. “i’m happy,” he tells you, and your heart warms at the genuine contentment you hear in his voice. “i’ve got everything i need here, and i have what i want. i just remember old stuff sometimes.”

“i hope you remember old stuff less often, then.”

you smile when he ducks his head, bowing slightly. “thank you.”

he watches you as you brush your fingertips over his desk, gently tracing the lines carved into the wood as you look over his papers once more. something nags at you then, and you murmur, “so why _do_ you have music notes?”

he doesn’t say anything. you look up to see he’s smiling, a secret little grin that makes you feel like you’re missing something big.

“what _is_  your dream, anyway?”

he parts his lips to answer, but a jolt runs through your body and blurs your vision for a split second. the room seems to shift and tilt suddenly, sending you stumbling forward a little, and the image of eunwoo ripples as he reaches out to steady you by the elbow.

“what’s going on?” you yelp, feeling a numbness clouding your mind.

“your time here is up,” he murmurs. even through your blurred vision, you see him smile sadly. “it was really nice to meet you, but it’s time to wake up.”

“what? but– i don’t wanna go yet–”

“have a good life, miss.”

“hey, wait–”

but you lose to the sudden wave of lethargy washing over you from head to toe. the last thing you see is a pair of arms holding you up and the pretty blue of his clothes, and you hold on to the memory of his smile as your eyes shut.

then you’re out like a light, and know no more.

* * *

you jolt awake with a gasp, heart racing in your chest as you stare into nothing in particular, before closing your eyes at the fragments of your dream scrambling around in your head. you take a deep breath, gathering yourself, and see eunwoo’s smile and his rich shade of blue in your mind’s eye. you breathe out slowly.

when you open your eyes, you find yourself sitting on the pavement, feet planted firmly on the asphalt. it turns out that you’re in your world again; everything is black and white and grey, and as relieved as you are at the familiarity of it all, you’re also mildly disappointed.

you rub your eyes and lean back from the fire hydrant your head was resting on, pausing when a little sticky note catches your attention. you can’t help but smile at the squiggly handwriting before squinting to read the words.

_come back tomorrow~! ^^_

you raise a brow and look around in confusion, when your breath stops short.

the store is gone.

 

☾ ☼ ☾ ☼ ☾ ☼ 

 

 _blue: clean, pure, success, fine, healthy  
_ _blue is the colour of trust and responsibility, of order and direction in life.  
_ _it is the most universally liked colour of all; a colour of intelligence and calm.  
_ _however, too much of the colour blue may mean sadness and bring about a passive and conservative personality._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i posted this on my tumblr but forgot to update here :) welp


	3. ...yellow

the next day goes by real slow, kinda like the snail on your classroom’s windowsill. you can’t help but stare at the way the sun bounces off its black shell and wonder, in another world, what other colour it would’ve been instead.

you think about that store a lot. you think about the weird d.store and the blue g– _eunwoo,_ and his rich blue clothes and how you’d spent a whole night in his Dream. none of it makes sense. you don’t understand how any of that happened and how that store exists– _heck_ , it wasn’t even there when you woke up.

which, by the way, is another thing altogether. what kind of guy leaves you sleeping on the sidewalk?

with a tiny flare of determination, you purse your lips and drum your grey fingertips against the black surface of your desk. you’re going back there tonight. you’re gonna go back and give him a piece of your mind.

(a voice says you really just wanna see more of those beautiful colours, and you squash it with a foot.)

luckily for you, your day goes by quickly. you breeze through your classes with half a mind and you’re out the door the minute you’re dismissed. it’s 5pm by the time you’re on the sidewalk; you try to remember what time you found the store yesterday. was it 5pm too? or had it been earlier?

you halt in your steps when you round the corner. the store stands tall and proud, its grey walls blending in easily with its surroundings. the huge sign above it remains black as the store continues to sleep. for a long few seconds, you find yourself simply standing there, wondering how a shop can look so innocently plain and boring like every other building along the street, and you get a wave of skepticism once again. right now, it just looks shady.

a part of you can’t help but think that maybe it had all been a dream after all. that this is just another quiet store, and that maybe the ‘d’ _does_ mean drugs, and you’ve gone crazy. that this whole thing is really just something you’re making up in your head and colours still don’t exist.

as if knowing what you’re thinking, the huge sign overhead flickers to life.

seven colours burst through the blend of grey and white. you look at the door; the sign says ‘open’ now, its colours seeming to both mock and beckon you forward at the same time. you purse your lips.

“it definitely means drugs,” you mutter and push the door open anyway.

and again, you’re taken aback by the interior of the store, at the bright, warm colours welcoming you in with open arms. you’re still in awe by all the lovely flowers and blue benches and tables. idly, you wonder if you’ll ever get used to this.

“welcome— oh, miss! you came back.”

you look up to see the pretty golden-haired barista behind the counter, once again cleaning a few glasses. his pink lips turn up into a smile as he bows his head slightly. “nice to see you again.”

you walk up to the counter slowly. “yeah, uh— i mean, you told me to come back, so—“

and then you remember why you’re here. the fire in your chest comes back and takes the physical form of you slapping a hand down onto the countertop. you ignore his little jump. “ _by_ the way, how _dare_ you, leaving me outside at night on the cold, hard ground, telling me to come back with a sticky note, what kind of _customer service—”_

“about that…” his eyes crinkle up into crescents. “you’re quite the heavy sleeper, miss. sure reminds me a lot of someone i know.” he glances at the red bottle on display.

“what?”

“anyway, if it makes things better, you looked like you were having a good Dream.”

“i— you know about the Dream?”

he raises a brow. “of course i do.”

“how? did i sleep talk?”

“no, that’s— didn’t eunwoo tell you?”

“eunwoo?” you frown and look at the countertop. “he— he said something about— getting his Dream because i drank—“

then it hits you _again_ , and you squint your eyes at the barista watching you innocently.

“what?”

“you’re jinjin, aren’t you?”

he nods calmly. “yes, in the flesh.”

“you’re the one who gave me that blue drink yesterday, right?”

“well, technically, _you_ picked the blue drink—“

“which means… you put drugs in my blue drink and made me drink that drink!”

he stares at you for a second before closing his eyes, laughing a little in awe, hand paused mid-air.

“miss, we’ve talked about this—“

“it’s d for drugs, isn’t it?”

“ _no_ , miss, please, i’m not a drugdealer—“

“then explain,” you fold your arms. “i wanna know everything.”

“alright,” jinjin sighs, folding his arms on the counter as well and leaning against them. “first and foremost, the d does not mean drugs. i repeat, it does not mean drugs.”

you shake your head. he laughs again.

“i’m serious! it means Dreams, miss. in this store, we sell Dreams.” he gestures towards the row of coloured bottles lined up neatly behind him. “those bottles, see, if you drink them, you get a different Dream every time, depending on the colour you pick. that’s it.”

you blink. “so you’re telling me there are six more ‘Dreams’? and i’ve already seen eunwoo’s?”

“yes, that’s correct.”

“do i have to drink all of them?”

“of course not, but if you want to, that’s fine, too.”

“are there—“ you hesitate, unsure of yourself. “are there other customers, too?”

“yes, there are. not all the time, though.”

“do they come back?”

he pauses. “not if they don’t have to.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“well…” jinjin scratches the side of his nose. “see, our Dreams— they serve as a… a distraction, of sorts.”

there is silence.

“so—“

“no, still not drugs.”

“hmm.”

jinjin sighs. “customers usually find this place when they need an escape, a getaway, when they need ‘out’— call it what you will. i know what they need the moment they’re within range of the store, so it’s easy to pick out which Dream i should give them once they walk through the front door.” he hums. “usually, they keep coming back until their problem is solved, but sometimes it just takes one Dream.”

“but i don’t need any of this,” you frown, looking at the blue bottle. “my life is perfectly fine the way it is. so why am i here?”

“you tell me,” jinjin raises his brows, a small smile playing at his pink lips. “ _you_ found _my_ store, and we only appear when someone needs us, so why _are_ you here?”

you pause, mind racing. _did_ you have a problem? no, not really. not before you found the store, not now, either— well, except for trying to figure out if this is all—

_wait a minute._

“hold on.” you take a deep breath. “ _‘only appear when someone needs us’_? what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

jinjin doesn’t say anything.

“are you even, like— real?”

he still doesn’t say anything.

“jinjin? i— wait, why am i here, again?”

he watches in amusement as you stand there with your fingers cradling your forehead, staring at the countertop as you try to sort out your existential crisis. he hears _‘confused’_ and _‘no problems’_ and another _‘why am i here’_ , and decides that you need a little break, and a little bit of clarity.

so jinjin pulls out the yellow drink and calmly puts on the counter in front of you.

you look up at the bottle, then squint up at jinjin. he gives you a smile.

“san— i mean, i think this Dream will help you some,” he says, taking out a glass. “it’ll help to sort things out.”

“how do you know that?”

he shrugs, smiling as he pours in the drink. “have a sip.”

“can’t you just tell me? you said you know what customers need when they come here, so—”

“i know what they need,” he says, “but you gotta figure out yourself _why_ you need it, too. that’s all part of the process, miss.”

you look down at the glass. the bright yellow looks back up at you, dancing in little ripples and licking against the sides as if it wants to play. you wonder what kind of Dream this one would be; what’s yellow supposed to be? why is it so bright and _loud?_

“miss,” jinjin says softly, looking at you kindly when you meet his eyes. “if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. it’s okay.”

your heart warms a little at how genuine he says it. you feel a tiny wave of guilt wash over you suddenly, and look away from his face. _god. feels like you kicked a puppy._

“you said this will help me answer some stuff, right?”

jinjin smiles at you in reply.

“then fine,” you say, curling your fingers around the glass. “i’ll have a sip.”

you take a big gulp. jinjin watches in surprise as you chug the whole thing down, and laughs a little when your eyes start drooping almost immediately.

you slink down to rest your head in your arms, eyes fluttering shut. “don’t leave me on the sidewalk…” you trail off.

you hear him laugh, a nice, distant sound that floats down to your ears.

“have a good Dream, miss.”

* * *

_“…i don’t know if the sun is trying to hide…”_

you stir awake, shifting around as awareness takes its time.

_“…but you shine in its place.”_

the soft, soothing sound of music gently washes over you, dancing in the air as a cool breeze kisses your skin. something is digging into your back; it’s a little uncomfortable and feels a _lot_ like wood. you push yourself up slowly to sit, groaning quietly.

“woah! you’re awake!”

the music stops. you hear footsteps pad towards you—oh, that’s _definitely_ wood—and feel the ground beneath you sway a little.

“are you okay?” a gentle voice asks. “sorry that i don’t have a bed.”

“it’s fine,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “i’m just… sore.”

“yeah, that’s the boat’s fault.”

your eyes shoot open. you sit up, missing the way whoever-it-is yelps and scurries back, and your jaw drops when you see where you are.

you’re on a _boat_. not a speedboat, not a yacht, not a cruise ship— just a little, wooden, yellow boat, in the middle of _nowhere_ , with miles and miles of the sea stretching out into the distance. you gasp when you realise the ocean isn’t black like in all the pictures you’ve seen; it’s a deep navy blue instead, with hues of green and yellow as it shimmers faintly in the sun.

then you look up, and your breath gets knocked right out of your chest when you see the sky, a wide expanse of a beautiful shade of blue that compliments the sea. the sun sits proudly on the horizon, burning bright above your head, and you’re so lost in awe and amazement that it takes a hand waving in front of your face to snap you out of it.

“—miss! stop looking at the sun like that, you’ll set your eyes on fire, i’m too young to see that happen—”

“i—i know, i know,” you stammer, turning to him. “i was just— oh?”

you’re taken aback, because the boy who’s crouching beside you has a shock of white hair, a sharp contrast to eunwoo’s black and even jinjin’s sandy brown strands. he’s dressed in a bright yellow shirt and plain shorts, and kind of has a baby face and pink, pouting lips.

your first instinct is to pinch his cheek, but you hold yourself back. “wow.”

“wow what?”

“your hair.”

he scrunches his face to look up at his hair, like as if that would work. _what an idiot,_ you think. _he’s adorable_. “what’s wrong with my hair?”

“it’s— white?”

“what’s wrong with white hair?”

“nothing, i’m just— i wasn’t ready for that.”

he huffs a little. “what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“well, jinjin has brown hair, and eunwoo’s is black, and _mine_ is black, but yours is just— really bright.”

“my hair is better than yours!”

you can’t help but laugh a little incredulously. “i didn’t say it was bad! i’m just _surprised_. it suits you.”

the kid makes a 180 degree switch, fluttering his eyes and poking his own cheek. “makes me look youthful and cute, doesn’t it?”

“i— yeah, a little.“

“nice! _some_ one gets it—”

“gives me the bratty baby brother vibes.”

_“hey—”_

you snicker, ignoring his protests. then he jostles the boat by abruptly moving to sit on the boards in a huff and almost gives you a heart attack when you teeter to the left.

“ _woah_ — hey, uh, you, uh, um— uh—”

“my name is sanha,” he says, looking at you curiously. “what’s yours?” 

“i’m— _woah!_ sanha, _sanha_ why— why are we on a boat?”

he perks up immediately, face brightening as he smiles proudly. “cause we’re in _my_ Dream.”

“yeah, but why are you in a boat?”

“why not?”

“why n—? we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“nah. nowhere is always somewhere.” 

you blink, staring down at sanha as he looks up at his yellow sail happily. “besides, i’ve always wanted to be captain of a ship, so now i am! i’ve got my boat, i’m on the sea— i’m _living_ , miss.”

then he makes himself comfy against the mast and pulls a yellow guitar out of nowhere, and closes his eyes as he starts strumming aimlessly.

and you’re struck speechless suddenly, because it strikes you that this boy, this baby-faced boy who can’t be any older than you are, is sitting against the mast of his _boat_ , playing his guitar like he’s not stuck in the middle of the ocean. he strums away without a care in the world, humming gently to himself.

sanha squints up at you with one eye and smiles. “any song requests?”

“i—? no?”

“well, okay,” he shrugs. “i’ll play something for you, then.”

“wait, wait,” you say, pausing when he does, hand hovering over his strings. “i wanna… ask, about stuff.”

sanha tilts his head. “okay?”

“well— i was having some sort of weird existential crisis earlier, and jinjin said you’d be able to help me figure things out, so—”

“jinjin said that?”

“yeah.”

“wow,” sanha hums, looking pleased and surprised about it. “hmm.”

you laugh a little at that, but continue. “so i just… wanted to know…”

you trail off. you wonder why you’re trailing off. sanha looks at you with a tiny, knowing glint in his eye, but doesn’t say anything about it. “yes, miss?”

“are you— are you real?” you blurt out.

he _pfft_ s, spluttering behind a hand and bowing his head in apology when you blush. “sorry! didn’t mean to laugh. i just— i don’t think that’s what you should be asking first.”

“then what should i be asking?”

“i dunno, you tell me,” he grins, strumming his guitar again. “what’s the first thing on your mind?”

“the store,” you blurt out again.

“okay. what about it?”

“i don’t know _why_ i found the store.”

“what’s wrong with finding the store?”

“well, jinjin said only people who need it will find it,” you murmur, picking at your grey shirt. “and i don’t have any ‘problems’, so i don’t know why i’m here.”

“do you like it here, though?”

“…here?”

“yeah! here, when you met eunwoo, and the store, where you met jinjin. or just here, in my little boat with me.”

he gives you a smile. somehow, your shoulders feel a little lighter. “d’you like it here?”

“i… yeah, i guess,” you muse, looking around you at the sea, the sky and the sun. “this place— this whole place in general, inside and outside of the Dreams, it’s nice. i like it here.”

“then you might as well enjoy your time here, miss! i think you shouldn’t stress too much about it.” he plucks some strings gingerly. “i’m sure it will come to you eventually. in the meantime, listen to this!”

you laugh a little, out of awe and disbelief more than anything else, at not only how fast his brain switched gears but also how _simple_ he had made that sound.

and… _he’s right,_ you think, watching as his fingers move deftly over the frets. he’s right; there isn’t any point stressing over why you were here when you already are. for a good moment, you sit there feeling guilt nibble away at your heart because of the way you had all but attacked jinjin back at the store. he didn’t deserve any of that. god, why are you so… _dumb?_

“hey, miss!” sanha shouts suddenly, jolting you out of your thoughts. “stop thinking so much already! the chorus is coming up!”

you snort. “chorus? you haven’t sang anyth—“

_“yohohoho, yohohoho!  
yohohoho, yohohoho!”_

you pause for a second before laughing again, once more in awe and surprise more than anything, and sanha laughs around his words as he keeps plucking the strings.

_“binkusu no sake wo,_  
_todoke ni yuku yo,_  
_umikazi kimakase  
_ _namimakase!_

_“shio no mukou de,_  
_yuuhi mo sawagu,_  
_sora nya wa wo kaku,  
_ _tori no uta…”_

you clap along as he sings, a smile pulling at both your faces as the boat fills with the sound of music and laughter. the pale yellow sail seems to dance in the breeze as the song fills the air, waves licking at the sides of the boat as if wanting to join in on the fun. you squeal a little when he gets up suddenly, uncaring of how the boards sway unsteadily beneath his feet, laughing again mid-song when you tilt sideways and almost fall overboard.

“sing, miss!” he shouts, strumming his guitar for the ocean to hear. _“yohohoho, yohohoho!”_

and you find yourself joining in, feeling silly and embarrassed as you shout out the words with him. his happiness is contagious, even if you have no idea what he’s singing—you watch in amazement as he throws his head back to yell the lyrics without a care in the world. you wonder, briefly, if you could ever be as worry-free and happy as him.

you wonder if your world back home would allow you to be.

a couple of random song snippets and more almost-falling-into-the-ocean later— _“if i drown, would i die here? in this Dream?” “i dunno, but let’s not find out…”_ —you have a hand cradling your chin as sanha hums softly to a calming tune on his guitar. for a moment, youre struck by how _young_ he looks suddenly, looking small and vulnerable as he leans against the mast and pouting when he presses down on the wrong strings.

your eyes dart up briefly to look around yourselves, but all that greets you is the vast, wide ocean.

“hey… sanha?”

“hmm?”

“doesn’t it get lonely?”

“lonely?”

“yeah, i mean…” you pick at your fingers. “you’re all by yourself here.”

he hums. “sometimes the others come to visit, and i get to go see them too, so nah, not really.” you watch as he changes chords smoothly. “it does get quiet, though.”

“quiet?”

“yeah, when it’s just me. don’t know what i’d do if i didn’t have this guitar! i’d go _crazy_ ,” he laughs.

he laughs, but something doesn’t really… “guess you really love music, huh?”

“mm. it’s fun and makes me feel better!”

“feel better about… what?”

sanha shrugs. you realise you haven’t made eye contact with him for a while now. “just stuff, i guess,” he says, reaching up to tap his head with a finger. “it gets really loud and messy in here, so music helps to clear my brain.”

“you… must think about a lot of things, then,” you say softly.

“maybe? i dunno. it’s mostly the same thing, though.”

“what is it?”

“me.”

you blink, leaning back ever so slightly in surprise. sanha continues to pluck his strings.

“a lot of people tell me to stop being so hard on myself. apparently, what goes on in my head aren’t very nice things,” he hums. “they say, _‘y’know, sanha, you should try to look at your good traits!’_ and i say, _‘what good traits? i’m just loud!’_ and then they’d say, _‘no, you have a lot of them,’_ and then i say again, _‘no, there’s none.’_

“i used to get angry a lot after that, but jinjin and the others told me to take it easy and take my time to look for those ‘good things’, whatever they are,” sanha says, then laughs. “and now i’ve found at least two things that aren’t just good, but _amazing!_ ”

you smile a little, ignoring how your heart has been groaning. “what’s that?”

“i can sing, and i’m super cute,” he says proudly, grinning cheekily at you. “don’t you think so too?”

you laugh, heart feeling a little warmer when he laughs with you. “yes sanha,” you say, and ruffle up his hair. “i think those are really great things about you.”

he smiles happily, looking oddly relieved. he’s about to turn back to his guitar when your fingers twitch and you blurt out, “i’m sure you’ll find many more good things, too.”

sanha looks up at you, smile widening a little more, and your chest feels lighter at the way he looks genuinely content.

“i’m sure i will, too,” he says softly.

you lean back, satisfied. “so! what’s your Dream supposed to—”

you jolt suddenly, gasping when a wave of vertigo crashes over you, and you tilt sideways to grip tightly to the edge of the bench. your vision blurs out a little as the boat seems to sway side to side, making your heart lurch a little in fear of tipping over.

sanha’s there to hold you steady, gently holding your shoulders. “miss, it’s okay, everything is okay—”

“this—” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut as numbness creeps into your mind. “this happened— with eunwoo, too—d”

“mm,” sanha murmurs. “don’t worry, miss. you’re just waking up, now.”

“i really— don’t want to…”

you hear him laugh as your eyes flutter shut, lethargy quickly pulling you under. his bright yellow shirt and lovely white hair is the last thing you see before you lose the fight to stay awake, weakly clutching onto his arms.

“sanha…”

“see you around, miss,” his voice echoes in your head, “and have a good life!”

☾ ☼ ☾ ☼ ☾ ☼ 

_yellow: hopeful, happy, delight, joyful_  
_yellow is the colour of optimism and enthusiasm for life._  
_it is a colour of the mind and intellect, of clarity of thought and ideas.  
_ _however, yellow may be anxiety-producing and also cause people to be more mentally analytical and self critical of both themselves and others._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the yohoho song is called [Bink's Sake!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aK9f2HvaALQ) its a song in the anime One Piece :) give it a listen, its rly cute...until the end
> 
> this is long overdue im so sorry to whoever is still reading this :'( school is finally over, so i actually had the time to finish it up and post it!!!
> 
> IM SO SORRY
> 
> also this chap sounds a lot like mj but i like to think that sanha has his own layers too!! idk i just think he's a simple person but like.... yea

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [tumblr](http://heybinnie.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> how dare i start a new fic when i cant complete the last two how da r e


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